


Revolver

by Rizu_Lays_Here_Dying



Category: ChroNoiR
Genre: Blood and Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone is Morally Ambiguous but leaning into Criminal, Group Intrigue and Conflict, Kanae and Kuzuha are kind of Messed Up, M/M, Mafia AU, Power Dynamics, Slow Burn, They are all actually Criminals it's a Mafia AU, This is also technically a Oneshot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28058160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rizu_Lays_Here_Dying/pseuds/Rizu_Lays_Here_Dying
Summary: 7What would you like? I’d like my money’s worth.Try explaining a life bundled with episodes of this—swallowing mud, swallowing glass, the smell of bloodon the first four knuckles.We pull our boots on with both handsbut we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can dois stand on the curb and saySorryabout the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine.I couldn’t get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time.– Richard Siken, Little Beast
Relationships: Kanae/Kuzuha (Nijisanji)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 153





	Revolver

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, i wrote another thing, and i am Exhausted. this really started out as a joke because i had too much cnr brainrot but i've always had a habit of getting too into plotting and etc that anything im passionate about writing usually ends up flying off the rails (i elaborate more on this on the bottom notes)
> 
> this one most likely won't be to the taste of many, but i still want to thank anyone who does bother reading this (whether you end up liking it or not) 
> 
> an important disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction, it is meant for entertainment purposes only and though it features characters from nijisanji, it does not claim them, nor does it impose or imply anything related to its livers, their opinions and their private status. always be respectful of all three!!!

Kuzuha sobered to an excruciating pain that focused into an ache at his temple, tearing sutures within his consciousness. Polaroids of hazy events spun out of sequence, a film noir with massive gaps in the reel. Trying to fathom these memories made him motion sick. Light pooled at the edge of his vision bringing him to present, unfortunate circumstances. 

He stood, barefoot and freezing, in a dim room he didn’t recognize, surrounded by people he didn’t know. Except for one, but that fact had yet to register in his mind. They observed him as if he were some foreign substance in a test tube, like they were scientists adorning dark suits instead of lab gowns. Kuzuha’s first instinct was to lunge at their blurry faces, put his claws to their jugular, tighten his grip right up against a carotid vein, as he always does. Demand to know where he was and what they were planning, whoever they were. 

Except that didn’t happen, he lurched a foot forward and made it no further. Behind him, the metallic rattle of a chain being pulled taught. Leather crammed against his Adam's apple, Kuzuha stifled a cough at the collar’s sudden and suffocating hold on him. When he tried to reach up and pry it off, he realized with fury that his hands had been bound together by straight jacket sleeves. They stretched down from steel buckles clasped at his shoulders to the cuffs sewn together at his wrists, enforced by layers of thick, wool fastenings. Beneath it, he became aware, was a pair of stiff rubber gloves that prevented his hands from movement, it felt as if they'd been dipped in cement that long since cooled to solidity. 

“I think the tranquilizer worn off.” Says one of them, she picks nonchalantly at a tear in the red vinyl chair she lounged in. Though her countenance displays indifference, she watches Kuzuha with a subtle cautiousness. 

The other one, a boy with a red streak in his hair, is more obvious with his unrest, eyes darting rapidly between each restraint as if fearing one breaking at any moment. “Isn’t that bad?”

“It’s probably fine, that stuff on him is angel tech right?” 

“But what the boss bought were just _prototypes._ ” 

“Then we’ll write up a complaint if anything happens.” 

“Not if we’re dead we won’t.” The boy shuddered from where he leaned on a wooden pillar, opposite to the girl in the chair.

Kuzuha wanted to curse at them, insults and threats bubbled in his chest like boiling water. Until he realized the worst part of his capture, balancing out his wrath with equal parts alarm. 

A muzzle. Not just an ordinary one meant for dogs, despite its similar appearance, a mask of intersecting pitch black bars caging the lower half of his face. In fact, Kuzuha might have even preferred one of those instead. But no, this device was specifically tailored to him, to _his kind_. It thrummed with an inhumane frequency, electrical currents seeping into his pores, locking his jaw in place. He felt his heightened senses being seized, dulling every advantageous faculty he possessed from strength to olfaction. He struggled against it, shaking his head erratically, the chain leashing him to the brick wall clanged at the force. The more he thrashed the more it stung, the muzzle was immovable. 

“... Looks like he really hates the thing.” 

“Can’t say I sympathize,” The girl narrowed her eyes in a glare of animosity. “Especially after what he did to Kanakana.” 

_Kanakana?_ Kuzuha doesn’t remember anyone by that name. It could have been any of the humans he dealt with during his work, countless unnamed enemies he’s slaughtered to survive. And for money. That too, of course. 

The boy with the red highlight glances behind him, and it’s then Kuzuha is finally aware of the two other people present in the room. 

A woman with stark silver hair, not too dissimilar his own, wore a dress of black silk with deep blue frills like cake frosting tiering her skirt. She was standing on her heels but tipped over slightly to lean close to a man who lounged on a sleek burgundy couch. Thin fingers smoothed over a medical patch at his throat, if Kuzuha’s sense of smell wasn’t impaired he would’ve been able to catch the strong odor of antiseptics and dried blood. 

The woman plucked a pill from a pouch at her hip and offered it to the man, who waved it off dismissively. This caused her to frown, “If you’d rather Ibuprofen than the Acetaminophen I can go grab you some. It’s just my personal recommendation that you should take some form of pain killer.” 

“No need. I’m fine Sukoya, thank you.” At the sound of the man’s voice, Kuzuha felt himself freeze. His stomach dipped, in the way it must feel driving a car straight off the cliff on a bell curve. 

The boy looked concerned, “Is it really alright to leave it be? The wound might get infected, or worse, what if Kanakana gets sick?” 

A laugh, close to a siren’s lull, soft yet clear. Kuzuha’s headache relapsed tenfold. “Think I’ll turn into a vampire too?”

“Don’t joke about that!” 

“How is he, really?” The girl in the red chair questioned. 

“Stubborn.” ‘Sukoya’ said, returning the pill. “He also refused the stitches, which means that it’s going to scar badly.” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Cat eyes, slit pupils submerged in ivy and mint, regarded Kuzuha from across the room with oxidized intensity. It was hauntingly familiar, a look both simultaneously prey and predator. Where had he seen it before?

_Fuck._

Kuzuha looked away, trying to ignore the twinge of thirst that aggravated his being. He swallowed dryly, wincing up at some vintage chandelier on the ceiling, trying to count each bulb to distract himself from the fact that his body was recalling what his mind was struggling with. The ghost of a rich, potent taste that roused his instincts into a frenzy. 

_Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it._ The chandelier blurred, swaying and doubling in his vision. His head was a mess. _1, 2… 3, 4, 5…. 6…_

* * *

“¥70,000?” Kuzuha glared at the vampire in front of him. He’d never met the guy before today, yet he was already tired of the guy. Bleached hair in an asymmetrical pompadour, his khaki shorts and designer shades. One of his fangs was replaced with a gold tooth, and yet. “Our agreement was ¥100,000!” 

“Right, about that. You certainly did a job well done taking care of those mob rats down at the docks.” His client adjusted his watch, another blatantly expensive piece, and sighed. “And you ended up making a mess, which I get is part of the job and all however it’s made the cleanup quite costly.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“I did you a favor, really, dealing with damages like those ain’t no easy task.” 

“And it took 30K of _my_ cut to fix it?”

“Oh absolutely, every cent.” 

“Bullshit.” Kuzuha spat. The only slip up he made that day was when he tossed one of those gang members a bit too far and the bastard ended up smashing through the window of a nearby flower shop. It was run by an old lady with ten cats who lived in the flat right above it. She caught him trying to drag the body back out, and he admits to being at a loss during that moment. But the old lady said something along the lines of - _Good riddance, my darlings hated how noisy those wretches were, thank you dear boy_. She lit a cigar to celebrate, then handed Kuzuha some homemade lasagna stuffed in a tupperware, sending him on his way. Other than that odd event, everything else went swimmingly.

As good as the lasagna was it sure wasn’t worth ¥30,000. So Gold Fang here, as Kuzuha had already decidedly nicknamed him, was obviously lying to him somehow. 

And if there was one thing he absolutely loathed, it was liars. 

“Listen here, kid.” Gold Fang started, tone patronizing. “This is just what you’ve got to be expecting from more important business, it isn’t as straightforward as it looks. A completely different story from any smaller contracts you’ve been taking on before this.”

“Maybe I should just go back to those jobs then.” Kuzuha crossed his arms with a grin that looked more like a snarl. “I know a couple of them have your head fetching a good price.” 

That made Gold Fang sweat a little, backing up against the door to his sports car. He tried to play it off with a laugh. “Let’s not be too hasty to make the wrong decisions, yeah? What with angels and mafia on our asses it wouldn’t do our kind any good to quarrel amongst ourselves.” 

“I want my money.” 

“That’s…” 

“Either you give it to me willingly or someone pays me to go get it myself.” Was Kuzuha’s final, fearsome ultimatum.

“How about this,” Gold Fang raised both his hands in half hearted surrender. “I pay you back in a different way, with interest! You see, hard cash is a bit more than what I can hand out right now. But, I _can_ give a free pass to my club for the night.” 

“Why would I care about your stupid club?” He asked. 

“Because my customers pay a flat hundred thousand just to get in.” 

“And?” 

“A flat hundred thousand _dollars._ ” 

That definitely caught Kuzuha’s attention. He’d always been weak to big monetary numbers, and a bit dull to the specifics involving them. His logic was that if it was a trap, he could just fight his way out of it, and that it would be a missed opportunity to not get something worth a hundred thousands for free. Clubs weren’t exactly a desirable place to frequent for him, but if the entrance fee was that high then there was probably something else to it. Maybe a gourmet buffet with an infinite amount of top class desserts that he could choose from. Buttered muffins, fresh egg pies, a rainbow assortment of macarons or sugar coated biscuits and cookies by a chocolate fountain. There had to be something to that effect, right? No way in hell did a club so ridiculously overpriced have nothing but a mediocre bar and a dance floor. 

To summarize, he was hungry. A meal on the house, enriched by his delusions of grandeur, significantly dropped his common sense. 

Against his better judgement, Kuzuha nodded. Might as well see if Gold Fang’s business was worth keeping his head on with the rest of him. 

“Fantastic! I’m glad we could reach a compromise.” He fished his keys from a pocket and unlocked his sports car with a quick button press, the signal tone of which was an audio byte of scattering bats. The tackiness of which almost stopped Kuzuha from getting in. 

“This better be worth it.” 

“Not to worry, my friend.” They weren’t friends. “In the decades I’ve worked in the industry, not one vampire has left my enterprise unsatisfied.” 

Kuzuha gave a noncommittal huff and slouched in his seat, gazing out the tinted window towards the bustling nightlife scene. The city itself was unapologetically urban, an imprint of the unrelenting march of time. He doesn’t remember when the ancient walled cities fell, or what century did bridges designed for horse and cart transform into long and narrow highways, where metal moved by rubber and fuel crammed pollution so thick you could see it billow upwards. High into the monoliths of concrete that soared into the sky, each one meticulously rooted in a predictable grid pattern. The industrial based smog softened the hard lines of buildings, and diffused the orange glow of sodium-vapor street lamps. Restaurants, hotels, animated billboards, screens on the phones of passersby - all glittering like stars dropped to earth. A half-moon hovered at the fringes of the luminous port towers on the bayside, casting milky impressions on the sea. 

If you listened closely, you could hear the telltale sounds of blissful ignorance. Politicians and aristocrats spent lavishly on evening parties aboard yachts and cruise ships, as if being a mile or two away from the mainland absolves them of any responsibility. They were over there clinking champagne glasses and plucking hors d’oeuvre from platters, while the city ate itself alive with bullets, fangs and faith. They talked for hours about who slept with whom in the latest news of celebrity love affairs, while the city simultaneously anguished in withdrawals and overdosed on unbranded panaceas by pill, syringe or crystal. They were flooding their palettes with golden bubbles and escargot, while the city drowned in a war between mortal, immortal and something more. 

On the radio. _“... although the ongoing investigations regarding the angels remain mostly classified, the police were willing to disclose the discovery of evidence that hints at possible malicious motives from these self proclaimed ‘mechanics of god’. They strongly advise against supporting this mysterious organization, though firmly refused to go into detail as to why. This opinion was met with harsh criticism on social media, where users berated them for being ‘generationally tone-deaf’ and ‘a hindrance to technological advancement’–”_

“Humans will try anything these days to supplant us at the top of the food chain.” Gold Fang scoffed as they pulled up to the entrance of his club. “They try to surpass us in numbers, swarming together like roaches, armed to their jittery teeth and calling themselves Mafia. Fancy word, that. And then these ‘angel’ lads are just pitiful, thinking that any of their toys and tricks pose a threat to our _superior_ species.”

Kuzuha wasn’t interested in the small talk, stepping out of the car before Gold Fang even got his seatbelt off. 

Not that he didn’t have an opinion, he just wasn’t keen in sharing it. To Kuzuha, there was no such thing as a food chain or some hierarchy of species. If a vampire killed a human, then that was that. If a human killed a vampire, then what else is there to say? You’re either better than someone, or someone is better than you. That understanding could apply to most everything, and it kept Kuzuha alive for centuries. Being immortal gives you an advantage over anything restricted by time, sure, but it didn’t make you any grander, just more of a senior. Yes they had experienced more than any other sentient being on earth, and were stronger in every way physiologically, however there’s an argument to be made in how with all the geniuses, innovators and inventors recorded in all of history, not one of them was a vampire. 

At any rate, the war between the human mafia and his kind was for the most part just a pretentious custody battle over territories. You could boil it down to two children fighting over a toy that neither of them really want, but since there was a inane pride in possessing it, they nonetheless quarrelled for bragging rights. 

And as for the angels… Kuzuha had never met one, so he couldn’t really say anything about them. 

Gold Fang took off his shades, tucking it in the collar of his hawaiian shirt, right beneath a creased hibiscus motif. “Ready for the night of your life, friend?” Again, they were _not_ friends. 

“I’m ready for free dinner.” Was Kuzuha’s curt reply. He hadn’t eaten anything today, been too busy to. When your livelihood is essentially offing the wealthy for the wealthy, you tend to get caught in their never ending cycle of throwing the knife back and forth. Himself being the knife, a lone wolf conveniently impartial to all the petty squabbling immortals seem to get themselves into these days. He had no connections or notable past, as far as others knew, which helped. A nobody from nowhere. Even if they did sometimes side eye him whenever he introduced himself as _just Kuzuha, no last name,_ _my lineage is none of your business_ \- in the end they still hired him, often. 

“Perfect.” Gold Fang said. A bit too enthusiastically for his comfort. “I personally consider myself this city’s top maitre d’, meaning that _you,_ kid, are in capable hands.” 

_What the hell is this guy going on about now?_

Gold Fang’s knuckles rapped on the double front doors to his club, the exterior of which was a plain, unimaginative, blocky structure. No windows or fluorescent neon signs, no extravagant paint job or rolled out red carpet. Intentional design choices most likely, to avoid too much attention from humans. 

A tall, bulky man with a cleft chin and a bulletproof vest greeted them. The bouncer, Kuzuha assumed. He gave a respectful nod to Gold Fang then turned to Kuzuha with skepticism. 

“One of our finest booths for this young man here,” Gold Fang put a hand to his back, nudging him forward. “V.I.P.” 

Kuzuha was starting to hear the warning sirens going off in his head. Red flags rising. “I thought this was a club, what do you need booths for?” 

Gold Fang’s sharp, red eyes, mirroring his own, winked. “What other reason could we have them other than to serve hungry customers such as yourself.” 

With a strong push, he staggered inwards, and was instantly swept up into a nightmare. 

The club was aptly named _The Underworld_ , graffiti’d in long broad strokes on every wall. It was definitely _some_ sort of hell. Ecliptic disco lights saturated Kuzuha’s vision in kaleidoscopes, he was dragged through a maze of bodies and noise, immortals dancing like stringed up marionettes to a puppeteer’s spindle of EDM, bass a reverberating heartbeat. As if this place was a living, breathing entity that had swallowed him whole. Every brush of his skin against sequined dress or frayed denim jacket itched like a rash. The volume of hundreds of voices speaking and slurring and singing and shouting was so deafening, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. 

Even as he was being led deeper into the maw of the beast by the bouncer, who in any other situation he would have decked in the gut and fled from, Kuzuha couldn’t resist. His body was weak and delirious for the first time in ages, he didn’t have the strength to fight back. 

There was an explanation to this, why his synapses and neurons were in total chaos, or why every breath he took felt like flames filtering through his lungs. 

_I’m a fucking idiot,_ was one of the only coherent thoughts that he could process as he was overwhelmed by the pungent scent of human blood. It wafted through the air, melting into the oxygen like a cocktail. He could sense every drop in various locations surrounding him. In the reversed liquor bottles on the bar shelves, shifting in man’s shot glass as he flirted with a woman whose lipstick was stained with the same taint, camouflaged in her rouge. Traces of it everywhere, drawing him in, ripping his focus apart in too many directions. 

Kuzuha knew about places like these, where the most grotesque and indulgent of his kind luxuriate in the human blood trade. A business that extracted from the willing and the indisposed. 

He was aware of his status as a killer, so it’s not like he could take any moral high ground and call himself better than these vampires just because he personally loathed drinking human blood. But he had principles, too. 

Human blood wasn’t a basic need, it was a vice. A habit comparable to when a human injects heroin and ketamine into their veins, numbing cognitive ability, losing oneself to inhibition. Except instead of damaged biology, vampires thrived in the consequence of adrenaline, reinforcing their physical condition. A drinkable steroid with no downsides. 

Well, _almost_ no downsides. Vampires were not immune to addiction. 

Which is why when Kuzuha collapsed on a birch wood chair inside of the enclosed booth he was placed in, the first thing he did was block his nose and mouth with his hand, and hold his breath. The private area was a claustrophobic room furnished with little else other than an antique table and a copper service bell. Partitions that separated him from the rest of the club were caked in acoustic foam, airtight and soundproof. 

“Are you alright, kid?” Gold Fang questioned, confused at his behavior. 

Kuzuha could only glare, he just had to take a moment to regain control of himself and he’d be out of here. A few minutes of absolutely no breathing should do it. Then straight to whoever wants this asshole and his entire enterprise burned to the ground. 

“Might be a first timer, from the way he’s acting.” The bouncer snorted, condescending. 

“I guess so, poor thing. Well in that case he’s quite fortunate to have ended up in our capable hands. I’m sensing we might even be earning a new regular, it’s always the juveniles that end up the most hooked.” Gold Fang took a step out of the booth and snapped his fingers. “Now then, bring in the goods. V.I.P’s always get their very own Merlot to start, my friend, lucky you!” 

What was brought into the room was no wine bottle, that’s for sure. 

If Kuzuha had his wits together at that time then maybe he would have noticed how off this person was, especially with the situation’s context. But he was too distracted by the disgust that took over him at the sight of a human being hauled into the room like an object, implying that _this_ was his dinner. The very idea of which made part of him feel like retching. 

There was also the other hungered part of him that couldn’t turn away. The clean white shirt, laundered to a clinical extent, open at the neck and exposing the pale flesh of his collarbones. He had height to him, body lithe but not unhealthily thin. Delicate wrists bound together by cuffs, a strange lack of tension in his hands, too calm and collected. Mousey brown hair tied back at his nape, some strands jutting out to curl at his brow and cheeks. His posture was demure, head tilted down submissively. 

Then their eyes met, and there was nothing docile about that tower gray gaze. A brewing storm that watched Kuzuha with a lethargic interest. Curious, calculative and completely in control. 

“Ring the bell when you’re finished.” 

The bouncer shoved the human forward, he lost his balance and stumbled, falling right before Kuzuha’s feet. 

* * *

Kuzuha dropped to his knees, bruising his shins on impact. His memories were gradually weaving a coherent narrative of how he ended up where he was, although the full picture remained hazy, a repercussion of his tranquilizer addled brain. 

“I still don’t think you should be keeping him, Kanakana.” Said the seated girl, “It’s a huge risk. He’s clearly unstable, and way too dangerous.” 

“I agree.” The boy with the red highlight tugged at ‘Kanakana’s arm. “What if the muzzle malfunctions? Or he manages to get away and tell the rest of vampire society about us?” 

The only reply to their concerns was a hum of consideration, though it sounded insincere. 

Sukoya chimed in. “We all know that once Kanae’s locked on to something he becomes impossible to dissuade. Weren’t you the one who was worried about him going on all his missions without a partner, Miss Shiina?” 

“I mean, I did, even so—” 

“And I heard from the boss that Akina voiced the same concerns.” 

“Huh? Yeah, but what I recommended was—”

“Then that’s that.” Sukoya zipped up her medical pouch, “If he manages to pull it off then the mafia gains a significant ally. I know that members from my branch would agree that it would put us at an advantage to have an insider on our greatest threat, having a vampire on our side could tip the scales of this whole faction war completely.” 

Shiina stood up from the red vinyl chair, she wasn’t convinced. “So we’ll just give him the opportunity to betray us? He literally has all the time in the world to gain our trust, decades even. What’s to say he doesn’t play the long con to extract us of intel instead?”

“Your branch has Mayuzumi, so it’s unlikely that he’ll manage to steal any secrets.” 

“Then he could just _eat_ Mayuyu!” Akina looked horrified at his own rebuttal. “I just think that there’s too much that could go wrong in this scenario.”

“It’s not like we can tranq him every time he tries something, either.” Shiina added. 

Sukoya eyed them with bewilderment. “You two have dealt with so many vampires before, why so frightened now?”

“Dealt with them as enemies, not allies! There's a _very_ big difference between fighting vampires and asking one to watch your back.” 

The argument went in circles. Meanwhile, the two individuals most involved in the case were dead silent. 

Kuzuha had pulled himself together enough to start planning his next moves, which was not going very well. He wasn’t exactly a master schemer or even in possession of the bare minimum patience required to formulate a strategy effective enough to fool mafioso, particularly when they were already so suspicious of him. 

They were correct in their doubts, there was no way he was going to have any part in their human syndicate or any other human organization by and large. He wasn’t part of the ‘vampire society’ either, whatever that meant. He wasn’t part of _anything_ , and he intended to remain that way. 

In order to do that, he had to get out of here. And while he usually resorted to brute force and his skills in combat to wade through every difficult predicament in his life, he wasn’t so sure of himself this time. 

His main problem was the presence of the one human that got him into this mess, _Kanae_. Kuzuha watched him carefully, trying to catch any possible sign of weakness. 

He seemed to be lost in thought, looking down at the floor with an unfocused gaze, fingers toying absentmindedly with the harness he wore above his suit. Adjacent to his hip was a gun holster of the same leathery material, and tucked within was a dark, gold embossed double-action revolver. 

It was subtle, but the indications of a professional killer were there. Kanae unclasped the hook of his holster, drawing the weapon from its cradle. The cylinder popped out with practiced ease, chambers hollow, and then like a magic trick, bullets from nowhere being loaded in. Meticulously deposited one by one like coins to a jukebox. Ammo rounds were hidden up his sleeves, Kuzuha just barely detecting the sleight of hand. All of this was done with a great amount of finesse and an equally unnerving amount of stealth, the other mafioso in the room hadn’t even noticed the weapon among them. 

The annoyance that came from witnessing such a faultless display made Kuzuha grit his teeth. Kanae’s eyes snapped up to meet his, as if he could hear the gnashing enamel. 

He had the audacity to smile, and Kuzuha doesn’t know if in his immortal life he’s wanted to destroy anyone more. 

Logic gave way to bloodlust. Precious minutes he could have spent thinking of ways to survive his capture were wasted as he lunged for the man, a blatantly fruitless attempt, but he fought against the restraints fiercely enough that the wall to which his chain was attached formed webbed cracks. The three who were engaged in debate ceased in alarm at his actions, hands hovering over their own firearms in reflex. Kanae didn’t do so much as blink at his provocation. 

“He doesn’t look very willing to cooperate.” Akina noted.

Shiina huffed, grasping the hilt of a knife strapped to her thigh. “That’s an understatement. His face practically screams, _over my dead body_.”

It was a close read, but Kuzuha was more invested in the idea of another person’s corpse rather than his own. 

“At least he’s honest.” Sukoya glanced at Kanae, trying to decipher his quietude.

Kuzuha hoped that his glare, dripping with malice, conveyed all of his cruelest intentions. He hoped that the desire to rip Kanae limb from limb was reflected in his own eyes, so that he sees how eager the immortal is to bury him six feet under. The craving wrecked through his body like a fever, and the distance between the two of them began to physically hurt. 

Something was wrong. Even if he was so enraged, was it normal for him to be so out of control? He was wasting so much energy that could be reserved for an actual fight, but found himself unable to stop. 

Then the belated realization came, alongside phantom pains that staked at his throat, unrelenting pangs of dehydration. He had done well ignoring his hunger until now, maybe _too_ well. Now the thirst intensified to an excruciating degree, amplifying his frustration. 

Just envisioning being able to tear into Kanae’s flesh again made Kuzuha’s mouth water. Even if he was a vampire, the gravity of how depraved those thoughts were made his ears burn with shame. He was seething in anger, teeth bared, brows low and temple creased, pupils dilated. 

But that potent hatred conflicted with his apparent desperation. The medical patch on Kanae’s neck, the notion of what was beneath it, drove him to salivate. He couldn’t move his arms to wipe off the spit that dribbled past his chin, bound sleeves stretching meaninglessly, more fuel to flames. He was wholly unable to conceal his starvation. 

_Snap_. The revolver’s chamber, now fully loaded, clicked back into place. 

“Take it off.” 

It was the first thing Kanae said in a while, his words made even Sukoya’s composure break, she looked at him with surprise. “What?” 

“Take off his muzzle.” He replied, “And leave us alone for a bit.” 

Shiina spun on her heel, mouth agape. “Have you actually lost your mind? Why in the world would we do that?” 

“Because it’s an order, Shiishii.”

“He’ll kill you!”

“He will _try_.” Kanae rolled up his sleeves, folding them to his upper forearms. “He will also fail, and in about thirty minutes - he’ll be walking out of this room as one of us.” 

“Kanakana…” Akina knew better than to try and protest against a direct order, but he couldn’t help but try. 

He got his hair ruffled for his troubles. “Have a little faith in me, you know I’ve dealt with much worse.” Kanae mused, “Plus, in a way, it seems that your recommendation was the correct verdict all along, Akina. Thank you.” 

There was a brief pause, then all at once the boy turned as red as the highlight in his hair. Shiina seemed to understand whatever implication had passed, and she pressed a hand to her temple in exasperation. 

“And what did Akina recommend, exactly?” Sukoya inquired. 

Kanae’s smile was bright and vicious, two opposites sharing the same face, like an eclipsed moon. 

“I was told to acquire myself a guard dog.” 

* * *

“You’re not going to do anything?” At some point, the human had come much closer to Kuzuha, one hand perched on his lap and the other tugging lightly at his wrist, trying to pull it away from where it covered his mouth. 

Was he so eager to die? What mortal in their right mind would not only knock at death’s door, but try to pry it open? 

Kuzuha tried to push him away, and though he wasn’t doing it at full strength, the human was absurdly fixed in place. There was an idiosyncrasy in the current power dynamic, a deer pinning down a lion by the thorn of its antlers. 

“It’s troubling if you won’t have me.” Hunted or hunter, murmuring against his ear, “I’m terrified of what they’ll do to me otherwise.”

_You don’t seem scared in the slightest,_ Kuzuha wanted to say. Instead he pushed a bit harder, palm firm against the dip between his clavicles. It had the opposite effect to what he intended, the human boldly entwined their fingers together, and he was warm in the way those with beating hearts were, it felt like holding pocketed sunlight. 

The human guided his trembling digits to a cross-string at his chest, intersecting lace holding the loose fitted shirt together. In a trance, Kuzuha tugged on the hanging twine, watched it unravel and divide. More skin, ripe and unblemished, revealed itself. Fleece fabric slid down his shoulders and pooled at the cusp of his elbows. 

“So gentle.” A finger poked at his lips, parting them, tracing over his fangs. “Will you tell me your name?” 

“Kuzuha.” He replied, intoxicated, and then wondered whether he shouldn’t have. Like he had been caught in a brambled hex by some mythical being donning human glamour. There are legends much older than him that tell of how you must never give your name to _Fae_ , or else you’ll belong to them forever. 

They were just childish stories, of course, but somehow this human made him question even that. 

“Pretty.” The human pinched his tongue, it tasted salty. When he let go, needles and pin pricks danced on his taste buds. “The name is, too. I like it. It’s not the kind of name that’s easy to forget. I tend to not remember a lot, so things that leave marks make me happy. That’s what your name reminds me of, Kuzuha, it sounds like a scar.” 

What a foreign concept, being complimented for something as small as what he decided to call himself. To the point where an insignificant thing, a part of his existence, made someone _happy_. He should’ve considered it nonsense.

And yet...

_Something that never fades._ Kuzuha glanced at the exposed throat before him, let his knuckles graze against it. The human wanted something permanent. 

Mellow fingers weft through the white tufts of his hair, paired with a pleased expression, as though he was praising Kuzuha for solving a riddle. 

“If you desire the same,” The human whispered, “You should come and take it.” 

His last sliver of self-control shattered to nothing. 

Kuzuha shot forward, sinking his fangs into the inviting flesh. The human hissed in pain, drawing air through clenched teeth, but arched closer regardless. Blood gushed into his mouth, savory glucose and liquified licorice, coating his gums in candied spice. He greedily swallowed the rivulets of viscous saccharine syrup, let it cascade down his throat, it coiled low in his stomach, clumping together like melted cotton candy. The sweetness made it hard to keep still, his overexcited sucking made a mess. It soaked both of their clothes in crimson blotches, like watercolor on canvas.

The human let out a short, incredulous laugh, breathless. “I might actually die from this.” 

Kuzuha clawed at his back, denting half-moon scrapes into his scapula. 

“... How spoiled.” 

There was no struggle. It was more of the opposite, really, the human encouragingly held him closer, pressing down on Kuzuha’s head so that his fangs could plunge deeper. He obliged, enslaved by the high the blood barricaded him in. 

Outside of the booth, a commotion had begun. 

Kuzuha didn’t notice at all; a loud blast followed by screams and gunshots. It was an uproar muted by his infatuation with the mortal. The clamorous shuffling of hundreds of footsteps, all running away, chased down by whatever had infiltrated the club. Even as he filled his belly to the brim, with his strength rejuvenated and senses re-heightened, the mass destruction remained just as white noise. 

When he retracted his fangs, finished with his meal, it was slightly uncomfortable. He felt bloated somehow, though his hunger had been appeased. 

Kuzuha had never drank so much human blood before, so it’s natural that his body was trying to adjust. 

The human didn’t look as vandalized as one would expect, granted he was drenched in his own blood, and was _still_ bleeding out of the wound at his neck, his hair had also come undone at some point - but the only sign of fatigue was a slow exhale, though it was akin to that of how someone acted after an intense workout, whereas any other human should have passed out from hypovolemic shock by now. 

“Done already?” The human asked, wiping some remnants from his cheek. An odd expression crossed his features, and he let his fingers trail down from Kuzuha’s face, over his chest, then stopped right above his abdomen. It was ticklish, butterflies fluttering at the touch. 

Then, with the gravity of his whole weight, the human pressed down mercilessly on his stomach, causing nauseating spasms to ripple through his insides. Kuzuha felt like the congested blood would come right back up his throat, the vertigo made him writhe. 

“I’ve been told quite a lot of times that everything about me is poison.” He said ruefully, “Yet here you are, holding so much of me, and it didn’t kill you. What do you think that means?” 

Something struck the entrance to the booth, the handle shook violently, lock rattling in place. 

_“Kanae! Are you in there?!”_

_“Someone grab the keys from that corpse over there, quick!”_

_“You idiot, just kick the thing down!!”_

The human lazily glanced in the direction of the commotion, evidently unhurried by the yelling. Kuzuha grabbed his wrist so harshly that his attention was stolen back to him, startled by the pitiful crack in his voice. 

“Don’t go.” 

In that same second, hinges snapped off their screws, and the door fell inward.

Kuzuha noticed something prick at his shoulder, though it happened too fast for him to react. A tide of drowsiness overcame him almost instantly. 

“Maybe it was worth coming all this way after all.” The human’s face blurred, or was he getting sleepy? Kuzuha felt like he was in a capsizing ship, descending more and more into unconsciousness. 

What followed was darkness. 

* * *

Even with the full picture, Kuzuha didn’t know how to discern the truth from the lies of that night, how much of it was an act or whether anything had been genuine at all. Especially taking into consideration how he conducted himself while in a drunken stupor from the club’s climate. 

The fact of the matter was, he couldn’t afford to lose his temper. He also couldn’t be beguiled by Kanae again.

He refused to be a part of whatever misalliance the man had in mind. It wouldn’t be easy, since he also had to avoid getting killed in the process. 

Kuzuha eyed the revolver with disdain. 

The three other mafioso had left the room, albeit reluctantly, so the two of them were left alone. They also took off the strait jacket sleeves and muzzle, but Kanae had conceded to keeping the chain leash on after heavy objections from his allies. 

So here they were, arm’s length apart, Kuzuha crouched and vigilant while Kanae stood over him with that same, annoying tranquility. They’ve been around each other for hours at this point, but this would be their first proper conversation. 

“I’m sure that you already have a clue as to why you’re here, so I won’t beat around the bush.” Kanae started, “You’ve been recruited into the mafia, congratulations.” 

“Fuck no.”

“It wasn’t a question.” 

“Doesn’t matter if it isn’t, I’m not doing it.” Kuzuha scoffed, “Why the hell did you think I would even _consider_ joining a group of humans that terrorize my own kind?” 

Kanae tilted his head, “Well, you’d be getting paid ten times more than what you’re earning now. I think that’s incentive enough.” 

That made him hesitate again, but his greed had previously contributed to this very predicament so he’d be a fool to fall for it a second time. Although, he was now aware that they must have run a background check on him. That didn’t make much of a difference, he wasn’t planning on lying his way out of this regardless. 

“Doing what, exactly? Partnering up with you?” He spat at the floor, looking repulsed as he possibly could at the notion. “Working with cattle sounds more appealing than that.” 

“That’s certainly not the impression you gave last night.” Kanae tapped the revolver to his wrist, discolored from where Kuzuha had gripped it. “If I recall correctly, you even begged me not to go.” 

Last night? So he hadn’t even been out of it for two days. Still, it’s not like he acted that way on purpose! He was high on second-hand fumes, and Kanae’s blood was… Actually, maybe it’s better if he doesn’t think about that particular aspect too much. 

“My head wasn’t working straight,” Was his brusque reply, looking away. “Just thinking about it now makes me sick.” 

“Is that so?” 

Kanae took a few steps towards him, ending his stride right in killing distance. Kuzuha turned rigid, and it took all of his will power to hold himself back. 

Even if he did manage to eliminate his main problem, that didn’t guarantee escape. He didn’t know where he was, the number of mafioso in the vicinity and also how he’d efficiently detach himself from the wall. The collar was unnaturally sturdy. 

A knuckle tucked beneath his chin, lifting it slightly so that he gazed back up at Kanae, who regarded him with twisted fondness. 

“Kuzuha,” He whispered conspiratorially, like sharing a secret. “You’re not a very good liar, you know?” 

A different kind of hunger reared its ugly head in Kuzuha’s gut, “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

“No matter what kind of disgusting methods you try and use, I’m not going to fall for it.” 

“I don’t understand.” Kanae didn’t look confused in the slightest. “Pray tell, what exactly are these _disgusting methods_ you’re accusing me of?” 

“...”

Everything that came out of the Kanae’s mouth held either implications of flirtatious amusement or mocking callousness with rarely anything else in between. The damage was formidable, and it was so easy to get swept away in whatever pace he set. Kuzuha felt like every word he said was shovelling deeper into a grave of his own making. 

Even his hatred for Kanae felt purposefully devised, occupying his mind to an indecent extent. 

“You’re a shit negotiator.” 

“That’s on the premise that there’s room to bargain.” Kanae’s fingers slid from his chin into his hair, benignity unchanged from when he did it previously. “Out of all the vampires that were present that night at the human blood trade, you’re the only one that’s been left alive. I went through a lot of trouble with the other members to ensure that.” 

Kuzuha’s scalp was tingling, “Why?” 

“Didn’t you overhear? I need a partner. What I do for the mafia and what you’re used to doing for a living aren’t very different, which is fortunate. Actually, meeting each other then was such perfect timing that it could even be called fate.” 

Kanae was trying to rile him up again, he fought the urge to bite back.“Might as well get rid of me now and find some other moron to drive up the wall. I won’t spend the rest of my immortality being tied down to a cause that has nothing for me, nothing that I want.” 

“The liters of blood you drained from my body suggests otherwise.” 

“I want you _dead_ , that’s for sure.” 

“Exactly,” He remarked. Casually, as if it weren’t his own life on the line. “If you become my partner, there’ll be more opportunities to figure out how to ruin me in the worst way possible. You can’t possibly be satisfied with just ending my life, that’d be letting me off easily, no?” 

An undeniable truth, yet it somehow managed to be complete nonsense. Kuzuha had never met a human so bad at _being human_. All of his gears were reversed, wires so crossed that he would rather break his own anatomy than build it. Kanae had to be in his early 20’s at most, too young to be so profusely hedonistic, it was as impressive as it was perturbing. 

Kuzuha’s grin was vindictive, “Irresponsibly trying to make me a mafioso even when you know I’m more of a threat than an asset, plus actively encouraging me on the former. Isn’t that effectively betrayal?” 

“Not at all.” Kanae mused, “It would only be considered betrayal if that threat had any chance of success.” 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” 

“You _want_ me dead, but you’re not going to kill me.” The authoritative shift in tone was subtle. “Just like how you _want_ to run away, but you won’t. And as for my blood–”

“I already told you that I don’t want your revolting blood!” 

Kanae’s brow twitched, though his smile didn’t falter. The hand that was caressing the crown of Kuzuha’s head stilled in place. _I shouldn’t have interrupted him,_ was the initial regret, _I should apologize._ And then, he was immediately disoriented by those very thoughts, blaming them on remnants of the sedative. After all, there was no way he would ever think in such a deferential way. It wasn’t like him. 

“We’re also going to have to work on reigning in your temperament. I don’t hate that obstinate side of yours, but dishonesty doesn’t suit you. Lies are meant to deceive others, not oneself.” 

“Maybe you’re just not as perceptive as you think you are.” He was looking away again. 

“You’re confident enough to lecture me on judgement? Even when you’re in such harsh denial about how every aspect of your life, thus far, has been dictated by others?” 

His clients and their money, the intrinsic instincts of his kind, and even the changes of society that came with each era. He had agency of his own, however in the grand scheme of things he really had just gone with the flow of the centuries. 

“You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Kuzuha argued, “All the decisions I make are my own! My life is mine to control, no one else has that right!” 

“And you dislike that fact,” Kanae examined his gun dismissively, its gold engravings glinted to a luster. “Although you won’t admit to it, despite how evident it is from your behaviour.” 

“What’s _evident_ to me is how you’re just a delusional psychopath who can’t see reality.” 

“And what reality is that?”

“You’d be dead for awhile now if it weren’t for this fucking collar and you know it. Another corpse I’d forget by tomorrow. Some nameless bastard with the most vile tasting blood I’ve ever had the tragedy of drinking.” He impulsively decided to double down on his outburst. “I’d puke out _every drop_ if I could.” 

The atmosphere plummeted to inertia. Chills arrowed down Kuzuha’s spine, a physical indication of the line he had crossed.

Kanae clutched his hair in a violent grip, pulling the strands taut. The sudden cruelty made him flinch, pain unfurling in his skull, peripheral fogged with the promise of tears. 

“Go on then,” Every word left venom in its wake, “Spew it out, if you hate it that much. Or are you not able to do that much on your lonesome?” 

All the furious barbs Kuzuha wanted to lash out died on his tongue, every bone in his body felt hollowed, frail and feeble marrowed. The feeling of weakness somehow amplified his hunger, it seared through every nerve and filled him with a thrill that was obscene. 

“I’ll gladly help you regurgitate every last trace of me, if that’s what you think you crave.” 

Kanae pressed the revolver’s muzzle point blank to his lips, front sight prying it open slowly, his teeth reflexively parted. Cold and bitter metal. Kuzuha’s eyes widened, damp with carmine strain, then all at once shut strenuously as the length of the barrel was shoved ruthlessly down his throat. He gagged as steel hit his tonsils, the grip on his hair tightened, keeping him in place. 

“I suppose the fault lies with me, seeing as you’ve managed to misunderstand this affair in its entirety. So let me be clear,” Kanae’s voice lowered to a dulcet timbre, like a mother scolding an unruly child. “Without me, Kuzuha, you _will_ die. A surprising amount of people want you gone, more than you’d expect really, human and otherwise. That won’t change when you become my partner, but you’d have a significantly better chance at staying alive. It’s also tactically beneficial to have you on our side, the details of which I plan to disclose once you settle in. Business wise, there’s a lot to gain in recruiting any vampire, even if it’s not you.” 

Kuzuha opened a single, teary eye to glare at him, strangled gripes jolting the gun deeper into his mouth, inciting a whine of discomfort. He was tempted to crush the revolver with his fangs, he knew he was capable of doing so, any vampire could tear through iron with ease. 

Like his mind was being read, Kanae cocked the hammer of his gun. _Click._ “Watch your teeth. I won’t warn you again.” 

_Bastard._ Kuzuha swore mentally, and made no move to disobey. 

“Now, what was I saying again?” It took a moment for him to remember, he did say previously that he was prone to forgetting. “Ah, right. Those formalities aside, I think we can develop a relationship of mutual benefit. I think you’d be entertaining to keep around, so I want to play with you some more. Meanwhile, among the many other things you gain from cooperating, is someone who’s capable of holding your leash. I can handle it all, any selfish tantrums, avid bloodlust or weary indecisiveness. All you have to do is let me.”

In one swift motion, Kanae withdrew the revolver from his mouth, prompting an intense coughing fit. The vampire heaved sharply, like his chest was made of mercury, collapsing inwards. Tears and spit dewed his flushed skin, he used his sleeve to wipe his face. 

“I’m a bit of a strict owner, though I don’t think that’s necessarily unfavorable in your case.” 

Kuzuha barked out a spiteful laugh, raspy from soreness. “You sadistic son of a bitch.” 

“Oh, without a doubt.” Kanae replied, coy. “But if you could see yourself in a mirror right now, you’d realise it’s for that exact reason that we’re so compatible. Speaking of which, since you’ve failed to get rid of my blood, would you like to prove me wrong with that alternative threat of yours?” 

When Kanae let go of his hair, a distinct clatter resounded next to him. Another sleight of hand, Kuzuha glanced down to see the collar lying on the floor, threadbare leather hide, motionless like the carcass of a dead animal. He touched his bare neck, red with abrasions from friction burn. Unlike his own bite marks, this kind of injury would heal over time, leaving no scars. A twinge of unwelcome disappointment came over him. 

Liberated of all his restraints, Kuzuha had all the reason in the world to slaughter the only genuine hitch in his escape plan. Kanae stood, posture careless, one hand on his hip and open to a myriad of possible attacks. 

To prove a point, he even raised his revolver, finger off trigger, and flicked the cylinder free. Bullets slipped from their chambers, scattering across cherry wood planks. Kanae outstretched his arms, as if to goad him into striking. 

But they both knew that Kuzuha would do nothing. 

With a satisfied smile, Kanae offered a hand, his words an echo of the night prior. “If you desire the same, you should come and take it.” 

Kuzuha smacked the hand away and staggered to his feet. He rolled his shoulders, hearing them crack from released tension, then he sideyed his new partner. “ _Fine_. I’ll be a part of your stupid mafia, and for no one’s benefit but my own. If you want to get complacent and believe that I’m playing right into your hands, then be my guest. Just be sure not to regret taking me in...” 

He grabbed Kanae by the collar, dragging him in by the scruff, their faces close. Kuzuha’s grin was vicious. “Because next chance I get, you’re dead fair and square.”

The laugh he got in response was far too peaceful, “Alright, I’ll remember to get ahead of myself at all times, I’ll even sleep with my door open at night so you can come in whenever you want. To _kill_ me, surely.” 

Kuzuha shoved him away, nose scrunched. “If I’m working together with someone as shameless as you, I better get paid well.” 

“You definitely will, our boss likes to throw money at us to the point where it’s actually disadvantageous to his own pockets.” 

“Can’t say I’m surprised. He must have _some_ screws loose to let you freely pull a stunt like this.” Poaching someone from an opposing group in the midst of an active conflict, a territory war with vampires nonetheless, it was asking for trouble. 

“That’s because I’m a favorite.” 

“Ha? Of your boss?” 

Kanae’s lips curled, provocative, the kind of smile that kisses hearts before it breaks them. “Of everyone.” 

As he said that, there was a knock on the door. It sounded hurried, probably by his concerned co-workers, strangers who would now be Kuzuha’s co-workers too. Allies who might never learn to trust him, if they were smart, and he in turn should never grow to trust a single one of them. _Especially_ the one at his side; he would be the one using Kanae, not the other way around. No strings attached. 

“I look forward to working with you, Kuzuha.” 

Kanae offered his hand again, as a formality, but it felt no less ominous than the first time.

“... Honesty doesn’t suit you.” 

He took it anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> a few extra stuff 
> 
> \+ "Is this a multichapter fic?" Maybe. I've structured it like a Oneshot that implies that there's more to the plot (there is, I have like ten full pages of outline it's terrible) but since I'm not sure whether i'm going to be insecure again and back out entirely i've decided to keep it safely vague for now  
> \+ I've kept the prose more simple in this one compared to the usual hyper flowery style I like to do (Like in Ashes of a Coleus) and cause I thought it would work out for me better in the long run, if I do decide to run long so to speak  
> \+ Please read Memoirs by Citrus_Pie and red by yu_ish this is shameless promo for other eng cnr fics that inspired me to write more  
> \+ Also I don't actually have any beta readers, and my adhd makes it hard for me to check for errors so please forgive me if there are mistakes!!! I will do a pass and edit this properly when my brain isn't so fishy  
> \+ don't forget to support cnr, especially this december, they're working super hard for all of us <3


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